


Do Driers Really Work?

by toomanyguiltypleasures



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Other, That's not how driers should be used Stanley, teen stan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 23:59:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10955439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toomanyguiltypleasures/pseuds/toomanyguiltypleasures
Summary: Stan’s left all alone in the house to do laundry and he’s bored out of his mind. How much trouble can he get up to in the basement?





	Do Driers Really Work?

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first fic in a long time. I didn't have anyone to beta it so it's not as good as it could be. But I decided to post it here anyways. Enjoy.

How did he get stuck with doing house work? Usually the last person for Ma and Pa to rely on, Stan tended to be left to his own doings, mucking about with Ford whenever his brother wasn’t burying his nose deep into a book. When Ford was studying, he would sit on his bed and wait, reading one of the comics he saved up for or finding some way to amuse himself. Stan would want to be around him even if there was nothing for him to do, knowing the two of them were attached to the hip.

 Only they weren’t. Not in the literal sense, at least. If they were, then Stan would not have been the only one left in the house while their parents went out to lunch with some friends and Ford was off at the library. Stan would have gone along with him if they weren’t told to clean up the living room and do the laundry. They played rock-paper-scissors to see who would have to do what, Stan ending up with the worst of the chores.

 Ford had the living room cleaned up before long while Stan had been hovering slightly, trying to get a conversation going even as his brother seemed to rush. The reason for the rushing was only revealed when Ford was done, saying he had to run to the library to check out a few books. Stan would have gone, but he would have heard about it later if the laundry wasn’t done by the time their parents got back.

 And so he sat on a chair in the basement, back leaning against the wall as he watched the clunker rattle around with the load he had put in. The collective load of everyone’s laundry was something he learned from his father so they could save money on gas, electric, and water whenever they used it, but it almost seemed like too much for the machine to handle. Every time the machine screeched against the ground, Stan was ready for something to blow up or for the washing machine to just shut down with smoke erupting from any and every crevice. Thankfully it managed to hold out through the whole cycle, giving a loud clunk when it stopped draining.

 A groan escaped Stan as he stood up from his chair and started transferring some clothes to the drier, setting others aside to be hung on the clotheslines that were strung across one part of the basement. The clothes were hung and the drier was started before he made his way back to his seat, arms crossing over his chest as he leaned back once more.

It would be at least an hour before the drier was done. He could probably run down to the library to see what Ford was up to before he’d have to run back. But that was too much work and not enough time. If their parents came back and saw he wasn’t there either, Dad would give him a whooping. So there was nothing for him to do but sit and stare, fingers drumming against one of his arms. The rattling from the drier was worse than that of the washing machine, though it seemed to be holding together more. He stared at it for a few minutes and watched to see if it moved on the ground, allowing his mind to wander when things seemed alright.

About ten minutes passed of Stan staring blankly at the drier before a thought crept into his mind, a rumor he had heard through the grapevine of the delinquents at school. Lonely housewives would sit on their washer or drier, if they had one, and would find pleasure with the way it moved. There had been some more about desperation, how they would put out because their husbands weren’t touching them, blah blah blah…

Did it really feel good to sit on top of one of those machines?

Stan’s brows furrowed as he stared more intensely at the drier, trying to decide if he wanted to see for himself or not. There was no harm in just sitting on top of it. If he felt something, then he knew. If he didn’t, then he knew the rumor was just a hoax. But no one was going to get hurt if he decided to hop on top of it.

Still, it took a few minutes before Stan got himself up and walked over. The drier’s noises became louder the closer he got and he could see how much more the machine was shaking. He placed his hand on top of it and felt the vibrations, his brow creasing further as he started to doubt the rumor. It was just shaking. How could this feel good?

He hopped on top of it and sat with his legs hanging in front of the door, waiting to see if the rumors had any truth behind them. All he felt was the machine shaking, his heels tapping at the door the more his body moved with it. It felt like rattle of a cheap boardwalk ride meant to lure suckers in and take their money. There was no thrill, no rush, and certainly no arousal.

Seeing as there was no one he could tell, Ford probably didn’t care to know, this would be a piece of information he’d have to keep to himself, as disappointing as it was. With a sigh leaving him, Stan hopped off and stretched his back out, one of his hands running through his hair to brush some of the strands out of his eye. He turned and looked at the machine with a frown on his lips, tempted to give it a kick for the disappointment. Instead he slumped on top of it with his arms crossing over the flat surface, his chin resting on his arms. How much time had passed? Was this going to be over anytime soon? He could at least go get a snack if he was going to have to wait much longer.

Stan picked his head up and moved his arms so he could push himself off, his body moving closer to the machine and his hips contacting it. He stopped moving as the vibrations hit him and traveled through his lower body in a different way than before.

 _Oh…_ So maybe it wasn’t just a stupid rumor.

A light flush crept along his cheeks and he kept his position, pressing himself up against the rattling machine. His thighs twitched slightly as heat started to build up in his groin, his pants slowly growing tighter the more the machine shook. The restriction from the confines of his pants added more pressure as he kept his hips against the machine, knuckles going white as he curled his fists against the top. It took his foot slipping some as his legs twitched for Stan to realize this wasn’t the best position he could be in. He needed to not have to worry about standing, wanting to focus solely on the pleasure from the vibrations.

He didn’t hesitate as he climbed back up onto the machine, this time lying across it and the washing machine so he wasn’t hanging off at awkward angles. His chest rested on top of the still washing machine as he lowered his hips down onto the drier, toes curling when the vibrations traveled through his lower half again. Stan had to arch his back slightly so his full weight wasn’t against the metal. It hurt a bit for his pants to keep his erection confined so he’d rather not crush himself with his body’s weight on the metal.

Moans started to work past his lips as the vibrations spread through him, his face pressing into the crook of one of his arms so he could muffle the noise. The last thing he wanted to happen was to be caught like this. Yet the thought of being found didn’t stop him from enjoying the pleasure that was being derived.

His thighs twitched more often as he felt the heat in his groin building up, his hips moving down to add just a bit more pressure so he could get closer. Almost there… An orgasm was building up and Stan wanted to see how long it would take for him to come without touching himself, if he was able to. His inhales were sharp as he felt the pleasure build up, hips twitching and changing the pressure minutely. _So close –_

“Stan!”

Ford’s voice cut through the basement and Stan tensed, his head snapping up as his arms scrambled to help him lean up. He couldn’t be seen like this. With the sudden movements he made, his legs gave out and his oncoming orgasm was forgotten, only to be replaced with searing pain as his back stopped arching and he crushed his erection against the shaking metal of the drier. All of the air in his lungs rushed out and he curled up into himself, rolling off of the machines and hitting the floor on his side. Yet the pain in his side and back was nothing compared to the one between his legs, his hands going there to cup himself as he stayed curled up. The echo of footsteps on the stairs barely registered to him until he turned his head, looking up to Ford with a wince and a strained smile as he waited for the pain to subside.

“What the heck are you doing down there?” Stan let out a forced laugh as he was asked the question, shaking his head before curling back into himself.

“Nothing at all…”

This was _never_ happening again.


End file.
